empty. There’s no one waiting for me at home, no one to hold me when the ghosts come to call. I sit in the car for a while. I can still hear the sound of you humming to your daughter—did you even know you were humming? I let the sound of your voice fill my mind.
NINE
Rain saw the dog first, a German shepherd that sat still and stiff as a sentry beside the big man. Large, mostly black but with tawny fur on the legs, belly and around the eyes. She’d seen the man before. Somewhere. Where? She felt a flutter of unease in her belly.
“Good morning,” he said.
He seemed nice enough, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He pushed his thick black glasses up his nose, stayed where he was beside the creek. Just sitting. He wore a black jacket, too hot for a summer day. His hair was long, pulled into a loose ponytail, his beard thick and long. He was heavy, very overweight.
“Good morning,” said Tess sweetly.
Rain didn’t say anything, just moved quickly toward Tess and grabbed her hand, started pulling her away.
“We’re late,” she said.
“Didn’t your mom teach you to be nice?” asked the man.
She bristled, annoyed. In fact, her mother had not taught her to be nice, and neither had her father.
“My mom,” she snapped, “told me not to talk to strange men in the woods.”
She got in trouble sometimes at school, for speaking out, for talking back. That’s your father in you, said her mother, not angrily. She didn’t get in trouble at home for that sort of thing. She could say what she wanted to her parents, speak her mind, give her opinion. She was allowed to get angry, to yell even. She was allowed to be sad, frustrated, to cry. Her mom was a big believer in letting it out and talking it through. Rain’s mother taught her that even though the world always wants girls to be nice and sweet, quiet, hold it all in, you don’t always have to be that. Own your feelings. Speak your mind. Know your boundaries. Protect them.
The big man stared, displeased she could tell, though she couldn’t say how since his face didn’t change. Then he released a low whistle and that big dog trotted over to block their path to Hank’s. Rain tugged Tess closer.
The beast stood panting in front of them, legs wide, head low. He wasn’t big. He was huge. His eyes were black, his tawny chest wide and muscular.
“Don’t worry,” said the man, not moving. “He’s friendly.”
The dog bared his teeth and started to growl.
It was a bright golden morning, sun washing in through the gauzy drapes, painting the room. Lily cooed happily on the monitor. The tendrils of the nightmare clung, pulling Rain back into the gloom.
She took a few breaths to calm herself. That place. That dog. Why was she back there? Never mind, scratch that. She knew why.
The bed beside her was cold and empty. Greg had left a note: “Thought it was better for you two to sleep. Rough night.”
It was nearly 9 a.m., an epic sleep-in by current standards. It had been a rough night, Lily waking twice, emitting suddenly and inexplicably that high-pitched wail perfected by babies everywhere to fry each nerve ending in their exhausted mothers’ bodies. Rain had nursed Lily back to sleep once, then paced the hallway for what seemed like hours after the baby woke a second time. Teething? Who knew? There’d been some late-night (or was it early morning) lovemaking—or was it just a dream? Did women dream about making love to their husbands? Maybe not. Her head throbbed.
“Maamaa,” Lily sang over the monitor. “Ahhh. Ohhh.”
It took an hour to get herself together, about fifty-six minutes longer than it used to take. She showered with Lily in the bouncy seat, found a pair of jeans she could squeeze into, a button-down shirt that didn’t gape over her boobs, dressed, dug out the messenger bag she used to carry with her everywhere, packed the camera and the portable digital recorder, a fresh Moleskine and package of Pilot V5 pens. Ready. Then Lily—fed, changed, diaper bag stocked, snacks, toys, strapped into her car seat. Okay.
Sitting in the driver’s seat and looking at Lily, red hair glinting gold in the morning light, Rain briefly wondered about the wisdom of bringing a baby to a crime scene. A crime scene that, with the help of Henry, and her willingness to